


Uneven Odds

by City_Of_Paper_And_Ink



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew being down with everyone's shit, F/F, I never want to see the word sherbet again in my life, M/M, also Boyd has big arm muscles for some reason, also Kevin doesn't make an appearance because he would never work at an ice-cream shop, and Neil still doesn't even like ice-cream, and there are definitely bets going on, ice-cream shop au, the butcher is mentioned once and it's a good thing!, this is so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/City_Of_Paper_And_Ink/pseuds/City_Of_Paper_And_Ink
Summary: Andrew's job at Fox Paws ice-cream is like someone who served ice-cream all summer would expect: cold and wanting to kill the other employees one worked with. But there is one person that keeps coming back despite his apparent disdain for ice-cream, and Andrew is intrigued for the first time in awhile.What's the worst that could happen?
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 119





	Uneven Odds

**Author's Note:**

> This fic idea came to me in a haze of reading Gideon the Ninth (which has absolutely nothing to do with ice-cream but you all should check out because it's amazing!) due to Gideon's excessive banter with literally everything, so I hope you enjoy!

“Asshole.”

Andrew looked up from where he had been unconsciously scrubbing at the same spot on the counter top with his rag for the past twenty minutes— the specific spot wasn’t only due to whatever mess had been there when he’d taken a rag to it (probably the knock off caramel they served that Andrew would curl his lip at but still apply exorbitant amounts onto his ice-cream) but also the location of it. Whenever someone had come over to his side of the counter to try and order his favorite ice-cream that was almost depleted, he would stare at them until they fumbled a comment or two and shuffled back over to where Aaron was to order something else from the menu. There was half an hour left before his shift ended, half an hour until he was able to have his double chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream with that horrendous fucking caramel sauce on top. 

He wasn’t letting anyone else have his ice-cream. 

Andrew quirked an eyebrow toward his twin who had muttered that under his breath. He didn’t know why his brother would be swearing in an ice-cream store that mainly sold to parents with kids and other kids from their high school. 

Aaron’s face heated, and he jutted his head toward someone who had apparently just walked in. The soon-to-be customer was setting down his school bag and a laptop. When he turned toward the bathroom Andrew got a good look at him and backtracked what he had thought earlier: the very hot soon-to-be customer.

He could agree that the very hot soon-to-be customer was an asshole, because no one was allowed to make Andrew’s stomach flip and swirl about like the mint swirl ice-cream he had just restocked (he was neutral to the flavour, much preferring his double chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream) but other than that he didn’t know why Aaron would be so forsworn against this guy—this very cute guy. 

“Why is he an asshole?” Andrew asked at a normal volume, causing some of the parents at various tables to look over at him with a look of menace— though they looked almost comical in the plush beanie chairs Fox Paws had for furniture besides the normal seating. 

‘Like you haven’t sworn around your own children,’ he thought to himself as he restarted his scrubbing of the counter top. He really couldn’t remember why he was scrubbing this specific spot, or even if the caramel had been here or over by the cash register, but it was too late to choose a new area; he only had twenty-five more minutes left. 

“Shh,” Aaron said, motioning his hand as if to tell Andrew to forget about what he had said. But Andrew wouldn’t do that now, he was too intrigued. 

“Asshole. Why?” 

One of the mothers looked about ready to fist fight with him (something Andrew wasn’t abhorrent to— he could practice a new move Renee had shown him earlier this week), and Aaron must have seen that because he stopped his restock of the very plain, very banal vanilla ice-cream (Andrew wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pool—his taste buds were too good for that) and he went into the back area. Andrew made a cursory look around the shop, but he didn’t really care if someone was coming to get ice-cream or not, so he followed to where his brother stood by the freezers stocked with extra ice-cream. Andrew wrapped his arms around his torso; he didn’t care what people thought when they saw him wearing a sweater in July in North Carolina–it was fucking cold in the shop when you worked here, and he wasn’t going to get hypothermia just to get free ice-cream. 

Even if the ice-cream was really good. 

Aaron was untying his apron and hanging it on the hook aside the backdoor when Andrew finally caught up to him. He waited until his twin did his routine of washing his hands and everything a superior worker should do, exactly the things that Andrew did not do while at work, but he really didn’t care if Wymack fired him. Well, not getting free ice-cream would be a struggle for a while, but he thought he could probably wrangle some from Renee while she worked. 

“He’s my lab partner,” Aaron said, turning toward Andrew with his own bag upon his shoulder now. Andrew knew immediately that his brother was talking about the very hot soon-to-be customer.

“It’s July,” Andrew commented. 

Aaron shrugged. “So?”

Andrew sometimes didn’t understand how his brother was going to become a doctor and still managed to be this thick headed. “Why would you both be meeting if it’s July?” 

“Oh.” Aaron’s ears turned red, finally understanding that Andrew definitely didn’t. “So, I signed up for college chem this year and part of the lab is set for this month, pre-data and all that,” Aaron remarked as if it was an everyday thing, “and I got Josten at my partner. Seriously, I didn’t even know he could fucking do science. All I see him do is study Russian or some shit like that.”

Andrew hummed. He finally got the last name of the very hot soon-to-be customer. “So you call him an asshole because he’s smarter than you.”

Aaron gave him the finger and shouldered his bag as it started to slip. “Whatever. I’m going out there before he does something to scare off the other customers. The last time I left him alone for more than ten minutes, I came back to him having a conversation on the phone in what sounded like Japanese and seemed to be writing down names.”

Andrew turned to let his brother by and thought about the very hot soon-to-be customer—or not, considering it was almost the end of the day and almost closing time. He knew Aaron would be heading to the library with the very— with Josten—so that left him in charge of cleaning up. 

Fuck.

He stomped around the backroom, realizing his brother’s tactic to have Josten come here so he had proof that he had to leave early. Oh well, Andrew was going to eat his double chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream in peace, and then maybe his brother’s favorite as well (rocky road, which he could respect, but it wasn’t quite sweet enough). Just to return the favour. 

He grabbed his rag.  
.  
.

Andrew was back at the counter, scrubbing that damn spot again (he could reasonably argue to anyone that there had been splatters of ice-cream on the counter that he had wanted to clean up, but the argument would have lost its best chance of being believable when someone could have clearly seen Andrew stoically standing there for the last ten minutes) when the bell above the door chimed. He looked up, slowly enough to show he didn’t care who had come in, but still too fast to prevent the sudden vertigo he felt from staring at the counter for longer than was deemed sane. The good thing was (if it could be called a ‘good thing’) that even with his nearsightedness and sudden vertigo Andrew could clearly make out the outline of Matt Boyd. 

Andrew didn’t say anything to Boyd, but the other man didn’t seem to mind. He gave Andrew a bright smile and basically hopped over the counter, his bright red Reebok sneakers flinging dirt from underneath his shoes all around the cash register and by the ice-cream. Thankful all the containers were closed, their lids sealed on (his brother must have known Boyd was coming in, otherwise they didn’t bother closing them: their mistake the first day he came in to work) so Andrew merely looked from Boyd to the mess he made, and received a sheepish smile and a promise to clean up his mess. 

Andrew checked the time and saw that it was quarter to four in the afternoon; he didn’t remember his brother leaving at three—something about going to an art museum which Andrew didn’t buy into one bit—but it had been a slow day, so he wouldn’t bother reprimanding Aaron for not giving him a warning that he would be working alone until Boyd showed up. 

Speaking of the devil, Andrew felt his phone buzz in his pants pocket, and digging it out he saw it was a message from his brother saying:

AM: I forgot to mention that I left; you’re alone until Matt shows up for work. I shut the ice-cream lids, so that isn’t on me if you decide to open any to eat. And STOP EATING THEM DAMMIT I NEED THIS JOB!

Andrew snorted and put his phone back in his pocket. He always did shit like that to get on Aaron’s nerves, even though they both very well knew Wymack wouldn’t fire them—he was too much a softie. Plus if it got too bad Wymack would just snitch on them to Betsy and she would talk to them in circles like she did with her psychiatrist patients until they had all but agreed to run for office and do penance everyday to cleanse their souls. 

No, he thought, that would be more Renee’s style.

While Andrew had been ruminating on the woes of his brother Boyd must have come out with the broom and dustpan. Andrew knew this because one: the dirt was cleaned off of the cash register and the surrounding area, and two: the broom and dustpan were up against said cash register with Boyd nowhere in sight. Andrew sighed and, reminding himself that Wymack couldn’t hire competent workers if they came up to the man himself with a flashing sign that read: I AM A COMPETENT WORKER, he retrieved the broom stationed against the cash register and went into the back room to put it in the supply closet. 

Coming back out into the main area, Andrew finally saw where Boyd had gone. It seemed that a customer had finally come in and was by the window seat. That was all he could garner since Boyd was blocking his whole view except for a shoe that was aloft off the ground. Boyd laughed and turned back toward Andrew, who could see he had put on an orange and white apron (Paws Ice-cream) and had tied his locks up into a bun. Andrew could also now see their newest customer: it was the very hot soon-to-be custom. 

Josten. 

“Hey so, I invited Neil to come and try the ice-cream since he’s never had any. Period! Isn’t that weird?” Boyd said, his grin huge and infectious since Andrew could see Neil—he finally had a first name thank god—had a slight smile on his face. It didn’t help Andrew’s plight against not thinking Josten was gorgeous, oh no. But it did add points on Josten being an asshole since he was so good looking. 

Andrew looked back at Boyd, trying to ignore the fact that he had been staring at Josten, and saw that Boyd was still looking at him. Andrew realized he was still waiting for an answer from him. 

Andrew supplied one: “Strange.”

Boyd looked satisfied by this. “I know right. Hey Neil,” Boyd yelled, and Andrew was glad it was only the three of them in the shop, otherwise he would have had to compensate the other customers with ice-cream to not file a lawsuit against their hear drums being blown out. “Come over and see what ice-cream you like, okay?” Matt finished, and Andrew saw Neil hop off his stool and come over. 

Andrew’s first thought when seeing Neil up close was that Neil had no right to be wearing such hideous clothing and still manage to look like he was kidnapped from a model magazine; his auburn curls were partially damp with sweat and his blue eyes glimmered with mirth and something else Andrew couldn’t place. But his clothes were the other untold story; loose against what Andrew imagined a lithe frame (and oh did he imagine), the clothes were threadbare, and Andrew wondered—since Neil knew Boyd who knew Allison—how he could get away with knowing her and dressing like a serf from the Middle Ages. 

Though he could see Neil plowing fields; maybe even a garden, a cute pair of overa— no. Stop it. 

“Hello,” Neil said in lieu of shaking hands. Andrew was surprised, very (pleasantly) surprised. He didn’t know if Boyd had told him that Andrew didn’t touch people or if he himself didn’t, but either way he admitted to himself that he wouldn’t be against asking Neil already to go to Eden’s Twilight with him, Aaron, Kevin, and Nicky. 

Andrew (for all his meager hopes of asking Neil if he wanted to go to a club with his family upon first meeting) merely nodded at Neil and grabbed his now cherished and ragged cloth. He didn’t even know where his hands had found purchase to grab it, as he was by the cash register and he had left it in the back room when he went to put the broom away. 

Wondering if the place was perpetually wanting him to clean, Andrew watched as Boyd gave Neil the grand tour of the menu—which consisted as one would imagine of all flavours of ice-cream. Andrew pondered what flavour he thought Neil would like; he looked like a pecan or moose tracks kind of person, and Andrew slyly situated himself between those two.

Andrew was wondering what exactly Boyd was telling him about their menu that would take so damn long, when he came over to Andrew with an apologetic look on his face. Andrew’s posture turned weary, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong—did Neil find some dirt by the ice-cream cones and figured out just how unsanitary the place was despite Andrew’s apparent cleaning frenzy?—when Boyd asked: “Do we have any, um… sherbet left in the freezer?”

Andrew was nonplussed—which didn’t happen often—and replied: “What?”

“Yeah so,” Boyd started, scratching the back of his neck, his muscles flexing from the amount of time he spent conditioning for football over the summer, “I may have forgotten that Neil isn’t the biggest fan of sweets.” 

Andrew closed his eyes and breathed in for five counts and out for four: Betsy had recommended it back when she was his psychiatrist: if he felt at times that all he wanted to do was punch someone in the face. And since he couldn’t—they were in an ice-cream shop and his brother apparently cared quite a bit about this job—he had to take the hard road. 

“Boyd.”

“Mm,” Boyd said. 

“You do realize we are in an ice-cream shop.”

“Yes,” Boyd replied, carrying out the s to make it not sound as curt. 

“A place that sells products directly from cows.”

“I mean more directly from their udders,” Boyd said offhandedly, but raised his hands in a gesture of peace after seeing Andrew’s glare directed at him. “But yes. From cows. But you see, it says on the menu that we sell sherbet.”

What? Andrew thought, and went to see this aforementioned discrepancy on the menu. He ended up standing right next to Neil, which caused both his mind to wander to the other things and his heart to start palpitating quite rudely. 

“Hello,” Neil said again, and Andrew turned his head toward Neil to see that he had been staring at Andrew. His face got read, and he turned from Andrew before he could issue a reply, unlike before. 

Andrew didn’t have time to divulge if Neil was having a heatstroke—he was severely red and mumbling, signs his brother had told him while taking Anatomy and Physiology were warnings of said heatstroke. Andrew was still wearing a sweater though, due to how cold it was, so he didn’t know if it was that. 

Neil, with his head still turned away from Andrew, motioned with his hands to the menu, and Andrew remembered why he was over here in the first place. He looked up and—lo and behold—in the bottom left corner of the menu, in the smallest font you could possibly put on a sign before being called out for catering toward people with better eyesight, was a price and size for the sherbet they sold. 

Huh, Andrew thought, orange sherbet. Looking over at Neil once again, he resigned himself to his fate of wanting to please overly cute guys and trudged his way to the back room, past Boyd and his red Reebok shoes and his too nice arm muscles, and opened up the freezer. After a few choice words aired to the room as he dug in the overly large freezer (he thought he could hide a body in here, possible his if he couldn’t get himself together because of this likening (crush) toward Neil) , he was rewarded with a pint of orange sherbet and made his way back out to the main area. 

He saw Boyd pulling his weight by selling ice-cream to a mother and daughter that had come in after his adventure in the back room, and he found Neil seated by the window once again, his curls all asunder and his face turned toward the street outside. Andrew went out the side door to the seating area and plonked down the sherbet tube on the table, along with a spoon he had grabbed from the tray of utensils. 

Neil jumped and turned to face Andrew. He looked surprised (not unhappy though, which Andrew thought was a good start) to see him until he saw the sherbet, and then a small smile graced his lips. 

“Thank you,” he said, slowly taking the sherbet tube in his hands and the spoon. He opened the lid and took a spoonful of it, bliss crossing his face before Andrew realized he was staring and very forcefully turned his head in a different direction. 

“Do you want any?” Andrew heard Neil ask, and he braced himself before turning back toward Neil. He had sherbet on the side of his mouth and Andrew didn’t know what to say. 

“You have sherbet on the side of your mouth,” he blurted out, motioning to the spot on his own face. Neil looked confused for a moment before registering Andrew’s comment.

“Oh, thanks!” Neil replied, and Andrew watched as Neil’s tongue darted out and licked the side of his mouth. 

Andrew felt his soul die and ascend to the afterlife. 

Neil smiled sheepishly at him, and then asked his question from before: “Do you? Want any I mean—the sherbet.” 

Andrew almost snorted at Neil’s fumbling of the english language, but instead shook his head. 

“It’s not sweet enough. Actually it’s disgusting.”

“Not swee—Why? What do you eat?” Neil asked, and Andrew almost said a prayer that his comment hadn’t set Neil off: there had been plenty a customer that had never returned to their shop due to Andrew’s assessment of their taste buds.

“Double chocolate chip cookie dough,” Andrew answered, and he watched with something akin to delight as he saw Neil’s face go through a myriad of emotions. 

“Oh,” Neil said, finally landing on a comment he deemed would expound on his thoughts. Andrew didn’t know why, but he took the spoon from Neil’s hand and took a bite of the sherbet. He had an immediate reaction to the too plain flavour, but it was worth it as Neil let out a peel of laughter which caused even Boyd to look over the shoulder of his customer. 

“Well, thanks for trying it anyway,” Neil said, receiving his spoon back from Andrew’s hand. They didn’t touch, but he could feel the heat from Neil’s hand and his stomach flipped. Andrew nodded, his mouth too dry to comment, and turned to go back to his station when Neil called out.

“Hey, wait!” 

Andrew turned, and Neil looked embarrassed. 

“I never got your name.”

Andrew’s mouth must have started to function again, because he said: “Andrew.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, and Andrew wished from now on everyone said his name like Neil did: reverently. “I’ll see you later Andrew.”

“You too Neil,” Andrew replied, and went to his station where his rag was waiting for him. He wondered if he would see Neil again. 

He would take Betsy’s words of fucking wisdom: he could only hope.  
.  
.

“I think you do it because you're nervous,” Renee supplied to their oh so invigorating conversation about why Andrew was scrubbing the damn ice-cream place clean at all times with his now dirty rag. He stopped mid-scrub, looking up at Renee who was giving him a pointed look, and then turned his face back down and mumbled: 

“Do not.” 

Renee sighed, but didn’t seem exasperated at his inability to shoulder the truth. “But think about it, okay. The first time—okay the first time was the independent experiment of sorts. But the second time you knew that you would have to work with someone other than your brother or me, and your usual way to dispel anxiety—picking at your armbands until they grow ragged— is something you’re trying to do less of. So the only other logical thing was to pick up the nearest item and do what its intended purpose is for.”

Andrew huffed in response; she was right. He had been trying to not wear out his armbands to rags as, though they weren’t worth a pretty penny, they still cost him what could have been an extra scoop or two (or three) of ice-cream. So he had relented and asked Betsy for tips on controlling his erratic thoughts, to which she suggested that his hands be occupied with some other menial task. Though Andrew didn’t think cleaning excessively was exactly on her mind. 

“So why would I be nervous this time,” Andrew asked, finally stopping his aggressive tactics against the counter top and looking to see if there were any horrified customers that had been watching have a go at this granite for the past eight minutes. 

Renee smiled softly. “I can’t look into your mind Andrew. But I bet you have an idea.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at her, to which she just laid on the sweetness of her smile like a customer slathering on an extra dollop of chocolate sauce (which he couldn't argue against: the chocolate sauce was really good). He hated when she was right, because he knew exactly why he was nervous. 

It had been a week since he had last seen Neil. 

Andrew felt like a damn love-sick teenager, and not the good kind. He had asked his brother if he and Neil had any more projects they had to do together, maybe supplying a hint or two that he could ask Neil to come to Fox Paws again, but Aaron had responded with a gladdened look and an answer that dashed Andrew’s hopes down the drain, that they had finished the pre-data. Though Andrew also was starting to get suspicious of his brother since last week Aaron said that he and Neil had to finish an assignment and had all but booked it out of the shop. Andrew didn’t think his brother hated closing the shop with him that much (though that statement could be argued) and knew he didn’t care about Neil’s feelings that much to not be a minute or two late. Furthermore, Andrew didn’t like how much time his twin was spending on his phone texting someone who Andrew peremptory knew wasn’t Neil. 

But Aaron’s confession of soul and mind to Andrew was for a different day, because Andrew could only concentrate on the fact that Neil had said that he would see Andrew again. But did he mean in school when their senior year started again? On a bus commuting to town somewhere? (Andrew wondered if he should buy a bus pass just in case) And it wasn’t just that he wanted to see Neil, oh no. He wanted to get to know Neil, which wasn’t just leaning into unforetold territory— the whole fucking tower of Pisa was collapsing downward. 

He had half a thought to ask if Renee knew him, but one) she probably did since Boyd knew him and they were all one big buddy buddy family, and two) it would give her cause for suspicion since he actually didn’t care about anyone except his brother about three-fourths of the time, Nicky—when he wasn’t talking on the phone to Eric while Andrew was trying to eat his lucky charms in the twilit hours of the morning— and Betsy all of the time except when she pulled her psychiatrist shit on him when he just wanted to enjoy his double chocolate chip ice-cream in peace. 

No. It was better to wait out the war raging on in his mind and chest, to evaluate his thoughts when he was more coherent to his emotions and could function like a normal human being again.

Andrew had just thought of the perfect way to forget about Neil—one that included splurging on ice-cream and wondering if he could manage to annoy Allison enough to buy him that Maserati he wanted— when his fate all but fucked him over like he was a sack of potatoes, and Neil Josten, Andrew’s best and worst nightmare, walked in the door. Well, what other entrance would he use? But still. 

“Neil!” Renee said ebulliently, raising her hand to wave at him before tying her rainbow pastel hair into a ponytail. Neil looked a little shocked at the exclamation, but waved back before sitting down by what Andrew now referred to as ‘Neil’s spot’. He didn’t know if it was his mind playing tricks on him or not (probably the former, his brain absolutely loathed him) but he thought Neil had looked at him for a moment before turning his gaze to sit down, his face heating slightly. 

That was odd—usually the place was cold enough to freeze over hell. Though he sometimes thought this place was hell, so maybe it wasn’t cold enough; it depended on who you asked. 

Renee looked over at Andrew for a moment, eyeing the way he had been eyeing up Neil, before shaking her head letting the subject drop. Andrew—on his part— had at least stopped scrubbing the granite counter, but for the first time he deathly needed to change out of his sweater since he was so hot all of the sudden. 

“I’m going to talk to Neil for a bit, and,” Renee paused and looked around the shop in frank showing of the meager amount of customers that were there, “I think you can handle it.” 

Andrew nodded and took her spot at the cash register, marking up a few more sales as the mid-afternoon rush (which was undeniably more a crawl, or a very slow walk) came in. He sometimes wondered how exactly Wymack was not only able to fund the store being open with so few customers, but also pay so many workers. And that wasn’t even taking into account all the free ice-cream Andrew nabbed throughout the day. He had just thought of the new flavour Wymack had ordered in—monster cookie dough—when he saw Renee slide a sheet of paper over with what Andrew could see had quite a few names and phone numbers on it. 

Huh, Andrew thought, that’s not suspicious at all. 

Andrew watched slyly as he scooped another ice-cream cone full of berry-blast (it was meager, definitely too much fruit) as Renee and Neil stood up and shook hands. Neil had a somber look to his face, while Renee looked pensively at the paper she had given him, but both of them still looked to be in good standing with one another, and Renee even managed to drag Neil over to the counter. 

Where Andrew was currently working. 

Oh shit.

“Hello again,” Neil said to Andrew, shoving his piece of paper deep into his jean pocket. Andrew tried not to stare too long at how nice they fit Neil’s running physique, but he must have given something away when Renee gave a slight laugh and nudged his shoulder. 

“Mm,” Andrew managed to say, and then stricken with how obtuse that sounded to his crush, said: “Hello. As well.” 

That earned a slight sigh from Renee standing on his left, but Neil didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at the menu like it could have changed from the last time he was here; in reality it could have—that was probably what competent ice-cream shop owners and workers did—but Andrew had been working here since the ninth grade and he hadn’t once seen anything be rearranged or added. Even the monster cookie dough flavour of ice-cream coming would just be added in the tubes, and the customers themselves would have to find it on their own. 

It was probably rude to people that didn’t work here—so everyone except sans ten or so people— but considering that his double chocolate chip cookie dough wasn’t up on the menu and he had a hell of a time warding people away from it, he couldn’t afford handing out pity. 

“Do you have any of that orange sherbet left?” Neil asked, looking Andrew in the face with his bright aquamarine eyes and making Andrew’s heart skip a beat. He really needed this petty crush to end, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be. 

“Let me check,” Andrew replied in the most non knowing voice. Renee gave him another look, one that conveyed ‘I love you but one) you're being cavil and two) you’re so whipped’ right to him with no difficulty. And what was he supposed to “say” back, he knew he was royally fucked.

The day after Neil had come in with Boyd, Andrew had placed the orders for the various ice-cream flavours for the up and coming week, and he had added onto the form ten pints of sherbet. No one else had ever asked for sherbet at Fox Paws, but Wymack let it pass with a gruff but no-bit “it’s coming out of your paycheck,” which it never did. Renee had seen the sherbet in the freezer when it came in on Monday, and she also knew that no one ordered it. Hearing Neil ask for it right now gave him away faster than a neon sign emblazoned on the wall with Andrew's hopes and intentions. 

He went into the back room hoping he didn’t seem too eager to fetch the sherbet, plucking at the neckline of his sweater and retying the apron he wore. Opening the freezer was almost a blessing, until he realized why he was back here and got nervous again. 

Retrieving a pint he went back into the main area and saw Neil texting someone on his phone, and Andrew had the distinct “stone into gut” feeling and worry that maybe Neil was dating someone already. Thinking about it, Andrew couldn’t believe that Neil wouldn’t be dating someone, and he felt momentarily foolish for ever letting his ideas get this far as to buy sherbet for someone—he despised sherbet. 

But that moment passed when Neil looked up from his phone and saw Andrew, who passed him his sherbet and a metal spoon, and smiled at him. 

‘Just bury me now’, Andrew lamented to his departing soul, ‘tell Aaron that I never loved him, and that I wish I had lived long enough to cherish another pint of ice-cream.’

Before he could lay down in his imaginary coffin, Renee interjected. “Andrew, do you want to sit down with Neil and I can bring something over for you to eat. You look a little heated.” 

Andrew was about to object to all counts of that request when Neil said sheepishly: “That would be nice. If you want to, of course! It just, there isn’t much going on outside to look at, and you seem like good company.”

Feeling as if he misheard him, Andrew looked to Renee who said: “Great!” and ushered Andrew out the side to the customer area. He severely hoped that this was a joke—he couldn’t keep good company if it saddled up to him and gave him free lessons— but it seemed some entity or another either pitied him for his crush, or wanted a good laugh (‘could be both,’ he thought) because he ended up sitting across from Neil Josten who was rolling the sherbet pint between his hands to thaw it, and had the spoon that Andrew had given him stuck out of his mouth at an odd angle. 

‘This isn’t even fair,’ he argued to exactly one person: himself. He watched as Neil’s auburn curls fell in front of his face as he lowered his head to open the sherbet container, but apparently the sherbet was a formidable opponent, and Andrew watched with some amusement as Neil couldn’t get a solid grip to open it. Neil looked as if he wanted to use his teeth to tear off the cover, and Andrew’s almost-but-not-quite non-existent pity lent himself to help Neil, but instead of grabbing the sherbet container Andrew’s fingers grabbed the spoon and pulled it from Neil’s mouth with a pop!

Neil looked at Andrew with a flush of scarlet gracing his obnoxious cheekbones and mumbled a quiet but honest “thanks.” Andrew couldn’t for the life of him understand why he was embarrassed: he was the one with the saliva spoon. 

After Neil managed to open the container (with assistance from his teeth— very nice teeth if Andrew had any say in them) he accepted his spoon back from Andrew with another gratuitous statement. Andrew was hoping the floor would concave underneath him—as he had nothing to say now that Neil probably didn’t want to talk to him— and was partially gifted that reprieve by Renee appearing with a smile and a bowl of ice-cream. 

A knowing silence settled over them—not exactly heavy or uncomfortable, but questioning what should be said or done next. Thankfully he heard his phone chime and dug it out to see that his blond haired twin had messaged him to say that he couldn’t make it into work on time and he was wondering (imploring) if Andrew could cover him. His subconscious must have thought this would be some sort of thank you for letting him meet Neil (or see him momentarily) for the first time by his brother’s unknowing help, because instead of his usually “Fuck off and get to work” he actually said “okay.” 

His response was taken with complete silence on Aaron’s end, and he wondered if his brother was dying of this revelation when Andrew’s phone started ringing with an incoming call. He picked up. 

“Are you okay?” His brother asked, his voice somewhere between apathetically subdued and a sprinkle of worry dashed in like a fine stew. 

“Fuck off,” Andrew replied, which caused Neil to look up from his sherbet and for Andrew to see that his lips were a perpetual orange ring. 

“My suspicions were correct, you’re still an asshole. Thanks for the reminder.” 

The line went dead and Andrew shoved it back into his jean pocket. Neil was still looking at him with a confused expression. 

“Who was that? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Andrew huffed. “My brother.”

“Ah,” Neil said with a smirk crossing his face. “I understand perfectly now.” 

“I bet you do. You had to work with him on that science project.”

Neil hummed. “Yes, but I also understand family… issues. I have gotten into one a many arguments with them over petty squabbles.”

“Siblings?” asked Andrew, shoving a spoonful of bliss into his mouth, the ice-cream melting on his tongue like a liquid rainbow. 

“Uncle, one to be exact” Neil responded. He had a fond look on his face, as if remembering his disagreements with his Uncle as being something amusing—which was entirely plausible since that’s how Andrew saw most of his and Aaron’s petty fights. Seeing Andrew watching him, Neil shook his head and his eyes lost the glazed look they had taken on during the aforementioned moment. “Anyway, what did he want?” 

Andrew normally didn’t answer personal questions, even if they were just about his brother being an certifiable prick; Andrew hadn’t gotten used to having a family quite yet, and so anything that dealt with them he proceeded with caution— but for some reason he trusted Neil. 

“He wanted me to work overtime until he dragged himself in here like the proper employee he should be,” Andrew said with contempt in his voice, and Neil snorted. 

“That sounds like him,” Neil replied as he dragged his curls back from his face, one catching on his forehead. Andrew had the distinct need to reach over and pull it away. 

He didn’t of course, but he could still imagine. 

“Do you know why he can’t make it?” 

Andrew pondered that question; he had a few sneaking suspicions, ones that involved another individual, but he wasn’t quite sure yet, so he just shrugged. 

“Hmm,” Neil said, “Does it take long for him to get here?”

“No, it’s only about a ten minute walk from our place.” 

“Oh, wow,” Neil said, surprised, “that’s rather close.” 

“Well apparently Bee—Betsy— wanted to be close to some of her friends who live around here, so she chose a closer place to live. It doesn’t bother me.” Andrew actually thought it was perfect. He was close to the main part of town, so the movie theater and the gas station were both in easy walking distance to watch a movie and pick up snacks. 

“Is Betsy your mother?” Neil asked, ruminating about the last statement Andrew had given. 

He snorted. “No. She adopted Aaron and me when we were going into the eighth grade. I still don’t know why,” Andrew finished. He meant that last part too; being a senior and having more life experience with other adults had only solidified the mystery that was Betsy Dobson. Hell, Andrew wouldn’t have adopted himself even if someone would have paid him, and Bee didn’t even get any money out of the deal. 

Neil stared at him somberly and said taciturnly yet softly: “I bet you do.” It took a few moments for the words to connect to his previous statement, and when he did it was Andrew who grew scarlet. It felt as if Neil could see through his facade of rude statements and egotism he put up as a front to hide his more vulnerable half. Andrew felt that he needed to finish his ice-cream and go before Neil turned into an even more attractive Renee-like figure (his opinion, he knew, Allison would voraciously disagree upon) and split his whole soul open with another well placed glance. 

But for some reason he was glued to his seat, so instead he asked: “What about you? Adopted? Loving parents? Middle-income homeless shelters?” 

Andrew could see Neil visible swallow, like the question needed to be fully digested before he could voice an answer. “No, umm,” Neil started, “I mean, I live with my uncle— but he hasn’t adopted me, not yet. At least that’s what he says. There’s some… people, hindering the process. Once that’s cleared up then he said he’ll sign the papers.” Neil fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and Andrew felt as if he had just walked into an unassuming room and found himself in a landmine field. There were too many underlying and subtle hints at too many things for his mind to process from that statement. 

“Complicated,” Andrew supplied, and Neil laughed—though it was a little more subdued than before. 

“Yeah.” 

The conversation teetered off, and Andrew knew he should get back to work, but he had one more question. 

“If I can ask, what is the paper for that Renee gave you?” 

Neil looked up from his empty sherbet cup, acting as if he had been caught stealing the queen’s precious jewels from her room. “Oh, it’s for my Uncle. To help with the adoption process.”

Andrew nodded, but was still not completely convinced; why would Renee be able to help with his Uncle’s adoption process? He knew Renee herself had been adopted after living on the streets, and her life before had been chalk full of gangs, but what would Neil’s Uncle have to do with any of that? 

Andrew shook his head. He was probably assuming too far and his conspiracies were becoming too outrageous. As if Neil’s Uncle— and therefore Neil— were engaged in anything illegal. 

Andrew huffed at his own over imaginative imagination. Utterly preposterous. 

He knocked on the table and stood up, stretching his back and popping his spine before getting ready to work again. The place didn’t look too busy still, but Andrew knew there was bound to be another rush (again figuratively) of people since he had to work part of his brother’s shift. He turned to Neil who had also stood up, and they both looked at each other like something more had been said between the two of them than was physically mentioned. 

Neil shouldered his bag that Andrew hadn’t even seen him bring in. “Thank you for… everything,” Neil said, digging into his pocket and handing a twenty to Andrew. Upon his stupefied look, Neil smiled timidly. “It’s for the sherbet, and a tip for the great customer service,” he supplied. 

Andrew’s mouth was once again dry, at a loss of what to say, but apparently Neil read his thoughts anyway. He hitched his bag up higher and left before Andrew could properly say anything.  
.  
.

“Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?” 

Andrew turned from his position at the cash register to face a one Allison Reynolds. She pursed her lips at his expression of pure apathy, and yet also conveying a bewildering amount of distaste for her, and tried again:

“I’m sorry,” she said (she clearly wasn’t by show of her almost feral smile she proceeded with), “who pissed in your Lucky Charms?” 

Andrew merely took to turning back to the cash register and ringing up the next customer in line, while Reynolds had no choice but to fulfill orders if she wanted to keep this job— though that was the mystery of the fucking century.

Andrew, being somewhat fair, knew that his complete lack of help in training in Reynolds on the first day of work was a little harsh, but he honestly didn’t care. Reynolds didn’t need this job, and she seemed to not mind just pissing off Andrew instead of actually logging a complaint that he wasn’t teaching her the ropes of working. 

He probably would have been somewhat more helpful (a statement with little to no truth or experimentation to actually say) if it currently wasn’t six in the morning on a Sunday. Andrew understood the need to get a fix of ice-cream, but what he couldn’t understand were people that couldn’t fulfill said fix in the comfort of their own home— on a Sunday. He wasn’t religious, but he knew today was the day of rest or some shit like that, and he was currently wishing he could use that as an excuse. 

Pity. 

He heard offhandedly by Allison that they were out of the mocha coffee flavour, and so, in a zombie-like state, went into the back area to grab another case of it. Andrew saw as he grabbed the ice-cream that his sleeves were slightly soiled from alcohol, and he couldn’t even be bothered to be halfway embarrassed; he thought Wymack should appreciate him coming in after a night out at Eden’s Twilight with his brother and his cousin, (not Kevin this time, something about keeping up appearance for the upcoming season— which Andrew had laughed at) but considering that they were technically underage and therefore shouldn’t have even been there, he could manage to see the other side of the coin. 

And that was where his current attitude originated from. Oh, the night was fine enough, though Nicky wouldn’t stop blabbering about enrolling in Germany for college so he could be closer to Eric, and Aaron smiling a little too joyfully at his phone, but otherwise the night by all accounts had been normal. Until it came to Roland. 

When all three of them had worked there for a short stint before Aaron and him snagged a more legal job at Fox Paws starting last year, Andrew hadn’t been enamored with Roland, no. But a curiosity had bubbled up and been occasionally satiated. Last night though, when Roland looked to Andrew for confirmation of their hook up, Andrew could only picture a certain auburn idiot who shyly gave him an almost fifteen dollar tip and cracked him open like a ripe coconut by just listening to him. He had shook his head at Roland, who merely shrugged and still received his very philanthropic tip, and turned away with the drink tray in hand. 

That had been last night, and now all Andrew had confirmed from then to this morning was how absolutely fucked he was. 

“Are you dead back there or did my wish not come true?” Allison yelled, and Andrew startled from his stupor and went to refill the ice-cream. 

The rest of the morning went by in a sugar-induced haze; even though they were only open until noon, he still had to refilled the mocha-coffee flavour once more before ten o’clock, and the pecan (for some absurd reason they had it in stock— the only people he knew who ate it was Betsy and the ladies at card club) once as well. By the time mid-day rolled around, he had shucked off his sweater and was in a plain tank-top with his armbands visible. Reynolds didn’t look happy at this situation, but it didn’t seem to deter any customers from buying ice-cream, so he felt justified that the sweater could stay off. 

That and he couldn’t be bothered to put it back on even if Neil Josten would have asked nicely. (Well, maybe then, but only in dire circumstances would he believe Neil would ask such a proposition.)

Andrew was just sneaking (more like staring Reynolds in the eyes as he ate his double chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream as she made a noise of disgust) some mid-morning breakfast for himself when the door opened and Neil Josten— the man of his untoward dreams— walked in. 

Andrew promptly choked on his ice-cream. 

Reynolds gave him a glance over her sunglasses ( where the hell did they come from?), her face thrown into sharp relief as his eyes stopped watering. She had a knowing smirk on her face that didn’t bode well for his lifespan, and she switched her gaze between him and Neil, looking as if she was sizing them up in her mind. “Huh,” she said to herself, “this could possibly work.” 

Andrew didn’t know exactly what “could possible work”, but if her body language had any indication it had something to do with him and his definitely non-existent crush on one Neil Josten ( even that sounded petty in his head; he was completely and utterly screwed with anything to do with Neil) and Andrew knew he should say something before it got out of hand. 

It always got out of hand when Reynolds was involved. 

“Neil! Thanks for meeting me here,” Reynolds said. She went out the side and gave Neil a hug, her acrylic nails bright red against Neil’s plain white tee-shirt. When she released him Andrew could see a lean stomach underneath the tee due to the heat, along with some faint… scaring? He didn’t get a proper look as Reynolds blocked his view, and then he saw Neil put on a lightweight jacket due to the temperature drop Andrew was sure he was feeling. 

Andrew zoned in again as Reynolds continued her monologue “... Anyway, I’m going to change out of this filthy apron and then we can head out, okay?” He heard Neil murmur something, and then saw as Reynolds came back around and went into the back room, leaving Andrew alone with Neil in the main area. There were a few other customers around, but most were completely inhibited with a sugar coma and the harsh sunlight to even comprehend half of what was going on. 

Andrew thought if Lucifer popped up and actually confirmed that this place was hell, no one would bat an eye. 

Andrew caught Neil watching him, and could appreciate the blush that spread across his cheekbones yet again. 

“I’m not ordering anything today,” Neil said in lieu of a hello, walking up to Andrew. Andrew assumed they were past ordinary introductions. 

“Where is the Queen of Hell taking you?” Andrew asked, and was rewarded with a small laugh from Neil. 

“That's new. She’s taking me shopping. I asked a few weeks ago and she just got back from a trip to Greece, so today was the first day she was available.” Andrew was considerably surprised by this answer; he hadn’t known Neil for long (though it felt that way) but he had seen how he dressed, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was Reynolds instead who had kicked his ass to make him go shopping with her. 

“Huh, any guess as to why her first day back she decided to work here?”

Neil shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, but she said she wanted to confirm something.” Andrew wondered about that statement, but Neil pushed on. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about her being back to work here. She told me right now that she’s quitting.”

If Andrew’s brain wasn’t at the moment reaching max capacity with too many things to focus on, he would have questioned this more, but instead Andrew responded: “That’s a shame. I wanted to get my brother in here and them have a go at each other. I would have brought the popcorn.”

Neil laughed, his voice bright with vitality. “I would have paid for that.” Neil looked at Andrew, as if seeing him for the first time. “I almost forgot to ask, the armbands are new without seeing you in your sweater. What are they for?”

Andrew felt as if the air temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees, and he felt like he needed to put back on his alcohol-spilled sweater; none of his friends asked about the armbands anymore, they all knew one way or another some sort of story, and Andrew wasn’t the type to straighten out the false ones. Neil seemed to realize that he had touched on something personally, but before he could say anything Andrew interjected. 

“I keep my knives in them, just in case I need to ward off Reynolds from wanting to paint my nails.” 

Neil snorted, not seeming to be shocked at Andrew’s confession of weaponry on his person. “That’s one way I suppose.” He smiled again, and Andrew could see him conveying his apologetic feelings, which made Andrew angry for some reason— made him furious that Neil could read him so well as not to actually say he was sorry. 

Before anything more could be said between them, Reynolds reappeared with what looked to be reapplied lipstick and a new purse he hadn’t seen her bring in slung on her forearm. “I’m ready. And sorry for having to wait with the monster,” she said, looking at Andrew as if he was the one to engender the ten plagues of Egypt. He gave her the finger for good measure, and she just looked to Neil to see if he was realizing how improper Andrew was. 

Neil, on his part, just laughed, and Reynolds looked like a revelation had come before her. She muttered under her breath something Andrew couldn’t hear, but Neil turned a shade of pink and sombered up. He waved to Andrew as Reynolds took hold of the collar of his jacket and pulled him out of the store. 

Andrew felt marginally better after that. 

Then he remembered he had to clean up. 

He cursed and grabbed his rag. 

.  
.

Andrew knelt down to grab the newspaper laying out in front of the Fox Paws entrance. He really didn’t know why Wymack continued to pay for a physical copy of the paper— or pay at all. Andrew thought it was a perfectly good waste of money: money that could be going to buying more ice-cream. Standing up, Andrew glanced over the various articles and worldwide news which only disgusted him with the things supposed leaders were getting away with. He hoped for their sake they never met, otherwise one of them wasn’t walking out of that meeting on two good legs. 

Andrew opened the door to go back instead and was just about to set the paper down, precariously close to the garbage for his amusement to see if it would just happen to be side-checked by someone and fall in, (a pity truly) when Andrew saw a headline on the front of the page in bold letters that stopped him dead. 

Butcher of Baltimore Dead: Conspiracy Unveils the True Murderer. 

Andrew didn’t usually read more than the headline of an article, especially one that sounded completely pretentious, but he remembered last year in his criminology class he took (he wasn’t even the strangest one in that class, and that’s saying something) the Butcher had come up. Oh, it was certainly everyone's favorite tale: a man who killed and swindled and bartered his way out of every crime— including killing his wife and son. Supposedly though; for some reason Andrew always thought that the son, Nathaniel, may still be alive. Not the mother though, Andrew had read about her and thought she wouldn’t have made it five feet out the door. 

He scanned through the article, betting that his criminology professor already had a heart attack from this revelation that he could add to his class. Andrew personally thought flaunting this was baseless and unprofessional; no one seemed to care in the article to look for Nathaniel anymore, and the way they mentioned his name, Nathan Wesninski, was closer to awe more than sickened by him. 

Andrew decided to hell with hoping, and through the paper straight in the trash. This was an ice-cream shop, however poorly run, and he didn’t want kids or even teens to read the things he had done. Sensationalizing a person that instead needed to be forgotten. 

He sighed. Andrew had thought his Friday had started out pretty well, but this was damn near depressing, even for him. He thought he needed some ice-cream to turn the tide. 

He checked the clock. 

6:00am. 

He checked when Aaron would be coming in on the schedule. 

8:00am.

Perfect.

By the time Aaron actually arrived it had been little less than two hours. Andrew had compensated for the early arrival he knew his twin would have by eating that much faster. He may have given himself a pounding headache due to sheer temperature of the ice-cream, but it was worth it. 

“Any customers so far?” Aaron asked at half past eight. Andrew didn’t think he counted, so he shook his head. They both knew around nine it started to fill up, the beanie chairs and round tables full of laughter for a Friday morning, everyone’s day just started with the promise to be different from last. 

Personally, Andrew didn’t believe in the whole “everyday is a new day and blah blah blah” mantra that people with big aspirations spouted like it was holy text, but he could agree at least that today there was one less horrific bastard in the world than yesterday, so he could almost see their point. 

The door at the entrance opened and a gaggle of teens walked in. Andrew could recognize some of them from school, though most were in standard high school courses that he had tested out of in the ninth grade. 

Aaron was still pissed at him for that. Especially as he didn’t care about school. 

Speaking of his cavil brother, he let him take the orders as he scooped the ice-cream, disgusted at some (someone else ordered a sherbet, and for a moment Andrew’s heart stopped in its fast-pacing tracks, but it was just some senior with too much acne and nothing to compensate for it except that he was a football player. Boyd was a football player, and Andrew could admit—deep down— that he could compensate for playing that atrocious sport) and neutral to others. 

No one seemed to notice that there was only one serving of double chocolate chip cookie dough left. 

When Andrew had all but exhausted his reserves for scooping ice-cream and handing it over the glass counter, he leaned against the back wall and took a breath of relief.

He really hated customers.

His brother, however, seemed to have no such problem. 

Andrew watched with a mix of amusement and protection as Aaron tried— and failed miserably— to hide that he was more than just taking the girl’s order. She was smiling at him, a smile that looked oh so enamored with his brother, and the aforementioned brother looked about the same, though Andrew couldn’t see if he was smiling. 

So this was the text-messenger. 

Andrew could have some fun with this. 

He knew (really deep down, a place so dark that he had thrown a bucket on its head and all but roped it to a chair) that no one could take Aaron away anymore. It was one of the first things Betsy had said to them when they were adopted, and Andrew had taken her word, and she had kept it. However, it didn’t stop making Andrew nervous (and therefore an asshole) to people who weren’t family talking to his brother; they had the ability to take him away, and though he would never admit it (it was also strapped to a similar chair) he cared for his brother, even if the way he did Aaron couldn’t recognize. 

So with that in mind Andrew started over to his brother. 

Aaron had just said something to make the helpless girl laugh, pushing back her curly sepia-coloured hair with one hand while the other held onto her messenger bag. She spotted Andrew walking up, and instead of acting like a normal person coming into contact with the apathetic twin, she held out her hand. 

“Hello! I’m Katelyn, nice to meet you,” the girl said, and Aaron turned around with a look of part fury on his face and part terror as to what Andrew would do, but she didn’t seem to notice, or if she did she didn’t seem to care. 

Andrew didn’t take her hand, letting her slowly lower it down with the smile still perched on her face, like a bird waiting to take off when the going gets rough. He reached back into his memory, and realized she was not only on the cheer squad for their school but also in debate with his brother and a few of his advanced classes. 

Andrew grudgingly respected her; she was more than what meets the eye. 

“So,” Kateyln said, speaking as if continuing a conversation they were in the middle of, “I’ll meet you here at six tonight when you get off. Sound good?”

Aaron turned back to her and nodded, which she took with grace and another smile. 

“Great! And nice to meet you Andrew, you're just like what your brother told me about you. All good things of course, except the not so good particulars.” 

And with that she took her ice-cream from the glass counter and went to sit with her friends in the plush beanie chairs. Aaron looked to be in shock, and Andrew thought Katelyn had more steel in her than Andrew previously thought one of Aaron’s girlfriends all had put together, and some sprinkled on just for fun. 

He was… interested in seeing how their future encounters would go. 

Andrew turned to go into the back room to restock their green-tea flavour (Andrew couldn’t in the life of him understand the appeal, but it must be what all the cool kids were eating; some would say it was better than them drinking, but he wouldn’t go that far) but only got to the door when Aaron grabbed his shoulder. He immediately whorled around, gripping his twin’s wrist in his hands like it was nothing more than a twig. 

Aaron knew he wouldn’t actually break his wrist, but he also knew not to touch Andrew without permission, so Andrew assumed all assumptions were being piled together and burnt to ash. Aaron visibly swallowed, and Andrew released his wrist; he checked to make sure he hadn’t bruised his brother. 

His brother noticed him looking. “It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me,” he said, seeing Andrew’s rising fear. “It was my fault anyway, let it go plea— it was a mistake I won’t repeat.” Andrew nodded, and Aaron’s shoulders that had been bunching up finally slouched back down. “I just, I don’t want you to do anything to Katelyn. She’s been helping me with pre-studies for med school, and you always,” Aaron continued, running a hand through his bleach-blond hair in a frustrated manner, “run people over. Metaphorically, and almost physically.”

Andrew snorted. “One— it wasn’t my fault Nicole didn’t move out of the way, and two— I have a feeling Katelyn has a better chance of running me over than vice versa.”

Aaron looked Andrew in the eyes. He didn’t do that much, preferring to look over his shoulder or at his own hands. “Really?” he asked, hope in his voice. Andrew realized that he had given Katelyn a damn compliment of sorts. He inwardly cursed, but just shrugged his shoulders at Aaron; he seemed to take that as encouragement, and Andrew turned around, down with this conversation that had somehow turned into Andrew semi-approving of Katelyn. He said over his shoulder to his twin:

“By the way, if she does want to run something over, I suggest you or Nicky. I’ll make sure to bring the popcorn.” He heard his brother huff, but he heard the smile in it, and felt his heart clench. 

Damn feelings. 

The afternoon went by. More or less. 

Looking at it from a normal weekday point of view, Fox Paws was unceremoniously busy with orders and call-ins. From a Friday perspective, it was banal. Andrew managed to get what he felt like a tub of ice-cream in his hair from some unknown source, and Aaron looked positively ragged after the afternoon bustle bustled out the door with a strained smile from Aaron and some choice words by Andrew. They both threw themselves down on the adjacent bean bag chairs he had coerced Wymack into buying after about a month of him working there, and even Wymack couldn’t complain about the expense after Andrew had caught the hypocrite taking a nap in one. 

Aaron checked his phone. “Half passed five,” he said, more to himself than Andrew. He wondered if his twin needed to change for his date, seeing as he was also covered in a sticky-sweet mess, and then immediately yielded his mind away from that line of thought; him encouraging Aaron to look presentable on a date as to further his relationship with Katelyn was positively horrifying. Andrew wondered if he was coming down with the flu. 

Just then the door rang its familiar chime, and Katelyn stepped in; Andrew felt that Aaron definitely did need to change, if what Katelyn was wearing happened to be any indication of wear they were going. It wasn’t exactly pristine, but her sunflower-yellow dress complemented her look, and Andrew almost felt bad for his brother. He was going to have some competition with others. Before he could incite fear into Aaron however, he saw that the door hadn’t closed behind her, and Neil poke his head out from behind Katelyn, catching Andrew’s eyes right away. 

He absolutely did not feel self-conscious of his state of person, especially not his hair (most definitely his hair) and had to clench his jaw from dropping as he took in Neil attire: his suit. 

It was a black three piece, and Andrew didn’t know where to look— thankfully (or not) his brother coughed, which let him look over to see if he was choking (he truly wished he was choking, it would help so much with not looking at the absolute fiend that was Neil Josten). Much to his dismay, Aaron was in perfect health; but he caught Andrew looking at Neil, and raised an eyebrow at his brother, causing Andrew to grow red— which did nothing but confirm his attraction to the idiot in the tux. 

“Katelyn, you look,” Aaron faltered. Andrew had a suspicion that he hadn’t taken in what his friend— girlfriend (dammit)— was wearing, too preoccupied with his brother’s crisis until now. Katelyn smiled, which didn’t help his brother in the slightest, and Andrew had to give him a nudge to move forward. “Very nice. You look, absolutely, positively…” Aaron stopped talking again, and Andrew knew he had lost his brother to his thoughts. 

He gave Katelyn a “what can you do he’s an idiot” shrug, and she laughed in response. He was taken aback; he wasn’t used to people laughing with him. 

“Thank you Aaron. I would say you look the same, but as I can clearly see three different flavours of ice-cream in your hair, I think you might need to head home before we go out.” 

That statement seemed to reboot his brother, and Aaron nodded. “Yes! Of course, I’m going to sign out and I’ll be right back.” Aaron turned around, almost hitting a table in the process, and proceeded to the back room. Katelyn sighed.

“I’m going to go back there to make sure he doesn't end up in the freezer. I’ll talk to you later. Oh! And Neil,” Katelyn said, spinning around and making her dress twirl, “good luck.” She gave him a kiss in the forehead that made Andrew envious, and walked passed Andrew and into the back room. He should have probably stopped her since she wasn’t an employee, but there were more pressing matters. 

Like the person standing in front of him. 

“Nice suit,” Andrew said, losing it on the inside for how hollow that compliment was. Neil didn’t seem to notice though. 

“Oh, thanks,” he replied, smiling at Andrew before looking back down at the cuff on his jacket that he was fidgeting with. There was a button, Andrew could see, that needed to be fastened, and he was walking toward Neil before he realized what his legs were doing. 

“Here,” Andrew said, grabbing hold of Neil’s jacket sleeve, careful not to touch skin. He hadn’t realized how close he would be to Neil, and immediately thought of the lean build he had seen under Neil’s shirt the other week, and in his dreams. Neil took a quick intake of breath, and Andrew looked up to see if he was breathing properly, when he saw exactly how close they were. He could see that Neil’s lips were a delicious shade of a cherry flavour they served that Andrew loved second best (perfect amounts of liquid cherry flavour and available all season); he thought it could be his new favorite now. 

Before he could say just that to Neil he heard another cough, and quickly stepped away from Neil, turning around to see Aaron and Katelyn watching them with a mix of amusement (Katelyn) and horror (his brother); Aaron was most definitely remembering the last time someone had been in that close of contact to Andrew, and what he had done to them. 

“Well, Neil,” Katelyn said in mock admonishment, which only endeavored Neil’s checks to turn a deep pink, “when I said good luck I meant after we left. But I guess I miscalculated on the twin’s part.” 

What? 

“We weren't, it’s— he was fixing my button,” Neil responded, all aflutter. He held up his sleeve like a trophy, and Katelyn raised a manicured brow (he would need to take lessons.)

“Well look at that, he has manners!” 

Aaron sputtered beside Katelyn, and Andrew started: “Hey.” But Katelyn just looked at her watch and said: 

“Would you look at the time, we really have to go if we want to stop at your house for a change of clothing.” She grabbed Aaron’s hand and led him to the entrance. Stopping by Neil once more, she whispered something to him, and then gave Andrew a savage smile. 

Andrew rolled his eyes, and that seemed to put Katelyn in good spirits. She opened the door and led her and Aaron outside, the door closing with a finality to it. Leaving Andrew and Neil inside the building. 

Alone. 

“Um, do you need to clean up?” Neil asked, looking at the fairly clean room, then at his hair. Andrew patted it down, which only seemed to make it worse judging by Neil’s laugh. 

“Stop that,” Andrew mumbled, holding back his own small smile, something he never would have thought he would have ever needed to do. 

“Sorry, it’s just— you do know I can see like four different colours in your hair,” Neil remarked, “it’s a little distracting.” 

Andrew could think of a few things that were distracting as well, but left that unsaid. 

Instead he asked: “What’s the suit for?” 

Neil looked down, almost as if he had forgotten the five-hundred dollar suit draped on his body. “Oh, I um, I was adopted today.”

Andrew’s hyperthymesia recalled exactly their previous conversation; Neil had said his Uncle was adopting him, but a few things had to be taken care of. “So you managed to get everything straightened out?” he asked, walking behind the counter to pick up the various utensils scattered around the work space like his thoughts currently were: too many and no incinerator in sight. 

“Yep,” Neil replied, popping the last letter like the gorgeous idiot Andrew knew he was, “we had some… luck the past few days, and everything worked out.” 

Andrew was wishing for some damn luck himself, preferably in kissing Neil, and to throw away the rag he was cleaning with. The damn thing. 

“So, are you going to burn the suit now? Not quite the thing you wear.” In all honesty Andrew prayed to some supreme being that Neil would keep the suit; it was giving Andrew quite the picture for his memory to keep hold of for future reference. 

“Actually,” Neil said timidly, and Andrew looked up to see Neil looking at him again; his hair was windblown, and it was as cold as Satan’s tits inside that his cheeks were bright. “I was going to use it once more tonight.”

Fuck. Neil was taken. 

“Huh, who's the unlucky bastard?” he asked, scrubbing the counter top with so much vigor he wouldn’t have been surprised if it toppled over onto him. He relished the thought. 

“I was hoping you.”

Wait. What? 

Andrew’s fucking brain finally decided to make the connection that Neil’s reddening cheeks weren’t from the cold, but fervour: nervousness. And though Neil had gone back to picking at that damn button, he saw him take quick glances up at Andrew. 

“I mean if you want to, that is!” Neil said, pulling at a strand of his auburn hair that Andrew had been mesmerized with since he first saw him. “If you don’t want to that’s… fine as well.” 

Andrew very much wanted to, but his brain had stopped working, his brain cells as scattered as the various flavours of ice-cream for sale. He must have been stagnant for longer than he knew, because Neil’s shoulders slumped and he mumbled a “forget it” in an embarrassed tone that endeared Andrew way too fucking much, and left. 

Right at the time Andrew’s brain decided to finally kick in like the slowest computer restarting. 

Andrew threw the rag down and ran outside, almost tripping on the muggy heat of the evening like a stone in his path. He looked to his left and saw Neil walking down the street; under the illumination of the setting sun, he looked ethereal, almost imaginative. 

But he wasn’t, and Andrew wasn’t letting him become another figment of his imagination. 

Neil must have heard the footsteps as Andrew all but barreled toward him, seeming surprised. “Um,” he started off, but Andrew interjected faster than he thought possible. 

“Yes.” 

“What?” 

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

Neil’s face visibly brightened, looking as if he had received the best gift in the world. “Really?” 

“You really are hopeless,” Andrew muttered, and kissed him. Neil grabbed onto Andrew’s shoulders, while he took Neil’s face in his hands. And it wasn’t just a kiss; it was everything. He didn’t want this feeling to stop, this out of body experience of too many emotions mixing with the need for more. Andrew leaned back, breaking off their kiss, and almost laughed as Neil chased his lips. 

“Later,” Andrew said in response to Neil’s too fucking cute whine. Neil smiled, and Andrew realized that him saying that meant there would be more of what they just did, that feeling he wanted to bottle and get drunk on every night. It was headier than his ice-cream, and he would have traded all of it for another kiss. 

He led Neil back to Fox Paws, watching as Neil sat down in one of beanie chairs that he was too small in, making Andrew smirk and Neil eviscerate him by saying that Andrew was shorter than him. 

“But there’s more of me to go around,” Andrew had replied, seeing the reaction the comment would have on Neil. It didn’t disappoint. Neil’s cheeks bloomed with colour, and he could feel Neil’s gaze on him as he finished up the last of his work and clocked out. 

Neil stood when Andrew walked up by the beanie chair, straightening his very wrinkled suit. “You could have just asked me in regular clothing,” Andrew remarked, seeing that Neil wasn’t the most comfortable in the suit. 

“I wanted to make a good impression,” he mumbled. 

“Too late for that.”

Neil glared at him again, but took his hand right away when Andrew held it out. “When did you… start to like me?” Andrew asked. He still had a hard time equating Neil with actually reciprocating Andrew’s feelings for him. 

“Um, when I came in to see Matt,” Neil replied. Andrew kept his expression neutral, but inside he was jarred; Neil had liked him since the first time they had officially met. “I actually hate coming here, it’s always loud, and you only sell one type of sherbet, which is rude.”

Andrew prodded Neil’s side with his free hand, and Neil smiled. “But you were a pretty good consolation to that.” 

“Consolation my ass,” Andrew replied. Neil prodded him back, and let Andrew lock up the shop before stepping onto the sidewalk. “Where are we going?” Andrew asked. 

Neil gazed right at him, his bright aquamarine eyes deep enough for Andrew to swim in for days. “You’ll see.” 

Andrew couldn’t argue that answer. He had bided his time before, and the outcome hadn't been too bad. 

He squeezed Neil’s hand tighter. No, the outcome hadn’t been bad at all.  
.  
.

**Author's Note:**

> And then later Andrew mysteriously finds that Drake was killed in an "accident" and wow, things really do work out great. And maybe he should ask how Neil and Renee know each other...


End file.
